


Vices (Scars Pt. 2)

by caffeinated_pens



Series: The Appointment in Samarra [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, Self Harm, Suicidal Mycroft, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinated_pens/pseuds/caffeinated_pens
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock have a conversation.





	Vices (Scars Pt. 2)

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry for the lack of updates!!!! School is starting up and I have some other projects that I want to get posted. But no matter what I will always stick with this fic, thank you all for your support!

         He woke up what was starting to become the usual way: next to his baby brother on a cramped hospital bed. He hadn’t slept well that night, but that was hardly out of the ordinary. He tensed up a bit the minute he felt Sherlock’s fingers on his arm, gently moving across the marks on his skin. Sherlock seemed to notice this and immediately pulled away. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

         “Really, I don't mind. You can touch my arms if you want to.” He lay there quietly as Sherlock inspected the cuts on his wrists. He felt a twinge of guilt realizing that his brother was trying not to cry.

          “Why? Why do you…”

         “You have your stimulants and I have mine.”

         “You promised.” Sherlock remembered that night years ago. _He was nine, Mycroft was sixteen. He was approaching his brother's room to tell him that he had had a nightmare, when he heard crying from Mycroft's bathroom. He knocked on the door. ‘Go away!’ Was the only response he got. Something didn't feel right, he ran to his room to grab his lock picking equipment._

 _When he got in, Mycroft was sitting by the bathtub holding a knife. His arms were bloody. Sherlock helped him clean himself up and asked him why he was doing that. He was just a kid, he didn't understand, all he knew was that his brother was getting hurt, and he didn't like that fact one bit. Mycroft told him that he would understand when he was older, but Sherlock had to promise that he would never do what Mycroft had been doing. He agreed, but only if Mycroft promised the same._ “I made good on my end of the deal, why couldn't you?”

         “No you didn't. The drugs count, Sherlock.”

         “Okay fine. But why?”

         It was a good question. Sometimes it was a distraction. Sometimes he wanted to be in control of the pain. Sometimes it was a way of taking out his anger (whether it be at others or himself). But sometimes after it stopped bleeding, he just liked the feeling he got running his fingers over his arms and feeling the marked up skin, it was oddly calming. Most of the time however, it was a way of jolting himself back to reality, of escaping his night terrors, but this was not something he felt like sharing. “I don't know.” And it was true, he didn't have a definite answer.

         “Well let's make a deal: I give up my vices for good, and you give up yours”

         “Deal.” They could both tell that the other one meant it.

         “Tomorrow. They're letting you leave.”

         “I assume it would be ridiculous to even entertain the notion that you’ll let me go home.” He didn't want to. He wasn't ready to be alone. Not yet.

         “Correct. You're coming to Baker Street. Or, if you prefer, John, Rosie and I could come stay with you. Regardless, you're not going home by yourself.” That was a fact Mycroft was well aware of and extremely grateful for.

         “No, your place is good.” He would never admit it, but Baker Street had always felt like a bit of a safe haven, and he was sure this true for the other two men as well.

         “Okay then.”


End file.
